


Coffee

by haisai_andagii



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haisai_andagii/pseuds/haisai_andagii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Jason Todd has trouble sleeping on a stormy night during his early days at Wayne Manor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee

  


  **Coffee**  


1.

A summer storm enshrouds Bristol and her usual affluent elegance in torrent and thunder. Jason Todd lies still and listens to elements as they do their damnedest to turn his new home on its head: wind beats like a bullwhip; lightning cuts open a steel-grey sky; thunder bellows like a wounded beast. The boy takes a drag from his dwindling cigarette. He exhales slowly, watching smoke unfurl from his nostrils. Thunder clashes overhead once more; disturbing his small peace. The cigarette is hastily put out and cast into the waste basket as he takes refuge underneath his duvet. It’s so close - as if it threatens to tear the manor apart and swallow him whole.

Jason hates it. He hates thunder, he hates lightning but most of all he hates that he’s afraid. Childish desire flits through his mature mind but it never makes it pass his trembling lips. But it’s pointless. He’s Robin now and Robin wouldn’t call out for help short of staring down the barrel of a gun. Besides, who would come? Bruce is with some woman he met at a fundraiser. And Alfred is fast asleep. And Mom...

Mom and him would huddled together; listening to a cacophony of a leaky kitchen ceiling as it filled up their pots and pans. She would joke about the pointlessness of having walls in their drafty one-bedroom, while wrapping a ratty blanket around them. Mom would hold him and sing raspy renditions of classic lullabies until he fell asleep.

But the storm brings Jason from the comfort of his nostalgic reverie as the window panes clatter violently. He paws under his pillow until he finds his reserve pack and lighter. He needs another and damn the risk of setting his bed on fire! But Jason finds his carton empty. Throwing them angrily into the bedside wastebasket, the boy tears from his bed into the hall like a pint-sized, spindle-legged fury.

 

2.

Jason takes to the stairs like a hunted hare; jumping two and three at a time. He dashes across the hall (passing under the watchful eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne.) and through the dining room until he squeezes his lithe frame through the heavy wooden door leading into the kitchen. He gropes the wall until he finds the light switch, flips it on and sighs as the warm kitchen lights drown out the persistent storm. Retrieving the kettle from the kitchen sink, he fills it and drops it on the stove top.

Jason retreats into the pantry, where he emerges with two packages of instant cappuccino and a handle of whiskey. If he can’t smoke, then he'll make one of mother’s favorite remedies for a good night’s sleep. On the way back to the kitchen island, he grabs his favorite mug - the one with Wonder Woman on it. He muses at the chance of meeting her one day.

Ha! He’d sooner be invited to the Fortress of Solitude for a birthday party!

The thunder reminds him of its presence and he nearly drops the mug. After setting it on the table, Jason searches for the television remote and finds it under a pile of newspapers. He hits the on button and lets the soothing drone of the evening news wash over him:

Summer Gleeson fires off a list of stock market winners and losers; Vicki Vale lambastes city council for cutting funding for Arkham; and Jack Ryder tears into his unfortunate-looking guest from Janus Cosmetic Corporation - Rommer Sonorous? Romaine Solaris?

Jason finds comfort in the fact that someone else is on the receiving end of a “talking to” other than himself. Alfred scolds him for hoarding food in his room. Bruce seems to always know whenever he’s even thinking about mounting the robot dinosaur. His teachers do not take kindly to his sleeping in class after a particularly rigorous training session. So, he can’t help but laugh (bitterly) at Romeo Swanson as he’s sweating profusely over allegations that his latest product might leave girls without faces.

The kettle starts to whistle just as Ryder’s guest rips off his microphone and runs off camera. Jason takes it from the burner and turns off the stove. The whiskey goes in first, about a quarter of the way (“Just enough, now! We don’t need your teacher calling here again!” Mom sing-songs.); throw in the cappuccino; add hot water; and mix well. It smells like her: warm, sweet, strong. The storm still rages on but it means nothing after that first scalding sip slides down his throat and warms his stomach.

Jason sighs in complete contentment. As he wipes his foamy mustache on his sleeve, the sound of slippers slapping down the hall reach his ears. Not wanting another lecture, he tucks the whiskey underarm and scrambles into the pantry.

The doors open and Alfred appears. He’s looking a bit rumpled as he is pulling his night-robe around himself. He merely raises an eyebrow at Jason, who comes into view with a box of cookies. The old man sniffs disapprovingly. The boy offers to make him a cup of tea but Alfred declines. He is not staying. He simply wanted to investigate the light emanating from the kitchen. And what would Americans know of tea anyway? - he adds with a smirk.

As he turns to leave, Alfred takes the time to remind the young master that alcohol is strictly for guests and for culinary purposes. Oh, and to not to bother with refilling the bottles with water this time.

 

3.

It’s an hour after dawn and Bruce returns from his sleepover. After a quick shower, Bruce finds his way to the kitchen where his morning paper waits quietly by a cup of jet-black coffee. Alfred informs him that breakfast will be ready shortly and would master do him the utmost kindness and collect his charge. Breakfast (blueberry pancakes) is rather tricky and demands his attention. Bruce snorts: He knows only a fool would wake that boy before noon.

But he sets on a fool’s errand to search for Jason. He isn’t sprawled across the velvet sofa in the library; nor is he curled up and sunning himself on the stone benches in the garden; nor is he in the den chuckling at cartoons between mouthfuls of bright, sugary cereal. So, that means he’s in the cave. Bruce moves the clock’s gilded hands into place and it moves aside with a swish. The bats begin to screech overhead as Bruce enters and travels down into the deep.

There’s a telltale glow coming from bottom of stairwell as he rounds the corner into the main area. The computer is still on. Roman Sionis’ pusillanimous physiognomy takes up the right corner of the screen. Bruce finds a search log for Janus’ latest financial expenditures and partnerships. There’s a laundry list of articles dotted with annotations and medical records of Sionis’ latest victims in Jason’s sloppy scrawl. Impressed, he saves everything before shutting down.

Clearly, Jason was down here and mostly likely still is. As Bruce trudges to the Batmobile, he spots a corner of tartan sticking out from behind one of the dinosaur’s feet. Upon further investigation, he finds Jason sleeping soundly with his bedraggled head propped up on a scaly toe.

Bruce approaches quietly, taking a knee when he reaches Jason’s side. A gentle hand alights his slender shoulder; Jason jolts - eyes wide but still smoldering with sleep. Jason lets out a strangled hiccup and burrows his face into the crooks of Bruce’s neck. His fingers clutch his shirt front; knuckles very nearly white and the tips of his ears crimson.

“Rough night?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Storm?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Coffee?”

“Mmm hmm.”

Bruce is anything but angry and is nothing but repentant. He soothes Jason with the promise of fluffy pancakes, crisp bacon and sticky syrup. Alfred’s waiting and worried with a frying pan full of scrambled eggs. The boy’s breath stops hitching to ask if there will be training today as he scrubs his face on the collar of his shirt. Bruce tells him no; but there will be an impromptu game of catch with the possibility of ice cream.

He pulls Jason up with him; a strong arm encircle his tiny shoulders as he guides the boy back to the mansion. Soft words and gentle laughter trail their ascent.

As the clock slides close and the lights dim, a bat tucks her pup under her warm, leathery wings.


End file.
